The constant battle of finding a restroom. Or a way to get clean. Feeling self-conscious because you look at feel like shit (and you know it).

I was always thirsty and dehydrated. But the fountain water at the parks was so gross that I generally just preferred to stay dehydrated vs. choking that nastiness down.

I read tons of books to keep my mind occupied. Bonus…the library usually has nice restrooms.

Did you know that San Fransisco doesn’t have any emergency shelters for single women? (at least they didn’t back in 2014). I’d have to find a way to get myself into the city to sign a list at lunch time. Then I’d have to get back there again at dinner time. I’d sit there for hours and hours waiting for my name to be called while watching other folks get called and shuttled off in vans. Then come 7 o’clock, they kick you out with a “sucks to be you”.

I never pan-handled. Shoot, I could barely look people in the eye as I wandered aimless through towns with my backpack that had my blanket tied to the outside of it.

Only a few groups of people seem to actually enjoy living on the streets. The mentally ill. Those who are trying to prove something, but know that they have mommy and daddy to fall back on when they get bored of adventuring. And drug addicts who are too far gone to care.

Living in my van was a huge improvement. But I still wouldn’t recommend it. Sure there was some good times. But one doesn’t usually have much energy for parties or adventures when just staying alive requires so much effort.

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